The End of Forever, chapter seven

Gretchen died. The fact should have made me feel sad, but it didn’t. You can’t feel sad about the death of someone you don’t know.

It also should have made things make more sense. But it didn’t. All it did was bring up more confusion.

There were so many questions, and every time I answered one, I ended up with more. The questions were like the Hydra in Greek myths, a many-headed monster that sprouted two heads every time one was cut off.

Who was Gretchen? Just when I thought I had answered it, I realized that I didn’t. And I never would. I knew Gretchen, but I forgot, and now I wouldn’t know her again. But even not answering the question brought up others. What happened?

What happened?

**********

School’s almost over. I know, not because I’ve been counting, but because Mom put out our “vacation list.” Basically, it’s a list of things she and Dad are planning on doing over the summer that Aaron and I can add to. Mostly, it has hiking trips and stuff on it, because that’s about all Mom and I can stomach.

But not today.

Because as soon as I see that list I write “the beach.”

Mom would never go for it. Dad probably wouldn’t either, his reaction to the picture was proof of it. But I am desperate. I need to understand what had happened, and I have a crazy hope that going to the beach might answer my questions.

I sit down on the couch with a book and wait for Mom to come home. She’s at one of Aaron’s games again.

**********

The doorbell rings. I jump half a foot in the air. I’ve been jumpy ever since I put my “suggestion” on our vacation list.

I get up apprehensively, and look out the window, something Mom insists I should always do before I open the door “because there are sick people in the world.” Sure enough, it’s Mom and Aaron. Aaron is sweaty and gross from practice, but he looks hilarious with his padding on, because he’s so short.

I almost laugh. Almost. But between Gretchen and the vacation list, I’m way too confused and jumpy to really laugh.

The waiting is horrible, and it isn’t over yet. Mom was home, but she probably isn’t going to see the list until dinner, two hours later.

**********

From my position on the sofa (I haven’t moved for hours) I see dad read something on the table. His eyes bug out and he mouths something in disbelief.

It looks sort of like ‘the beach.’

Then I remember. The vacation list. Gretchen. Waiting. How could I have forgotten?

Then he turns away from the table. Again, he looks angry, but when I look closer, I notice that the anger is only an attempt to cover up something else: sadness. He doesn’t want to go back to the beach, I realize, because going will only remind him of Gretchen.

Sadness, and – and something else. Fear?

Fear that if we go, something will happen to me?

“Who wrote this?” he asked in a angry, but also sad and afraid voice.

“Me,” I reply, trying to look surprised by his anger. “I – I wanted to do something different this year.” It wasn’t the truth, but if I told the truth I’d never go to the beach. Never.

And somehow I had a feeling that if I never went, I’d never know.